


Dreams

by Debi_C



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Post-Ascension, Smarm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-23
Updated: 2003-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:05:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11970858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debi_C/pseuds/Debi_C
Summary: Jack has a nightmare.





	Dreams

Jack O'Neill awoke with a start. He'd been dreaming about his friend and teammate, Daniel Jackson. He'd dreamed that Daniel was gone...died... horribly. It was a strange kind of dream, a dream where he'd sat frozen by the bedside of the suffering man, unable to do anything. Where he could only watch, while Daniel lay suffering a painful death, untouched and unsoothed.

Jack had been perched at the side of a hospital bed unable to say any words of comfort, as his best friend died. He hadn't even managed to say 'I'll miss you' or 'I'm sorry' or 'I love you'.

He sat up in his bed and rubbed his hands over his face. His eyes were gritty from unshed tears, his cheeks rough with stubble. It was a disturbing dream, one he'd had before and would have again. Because it was true.

The miracle that had returned Daniel was still unexplained. Whether he'd been cast out by the Ascendeds or if, by losing the fight with Anubis, he'd lost his powers. When he appeared on that planet naked, alone and unknowing he had been unable to tell them what had happened to him. If he even knew.

Shoving back the covers on the bed, he pushed himself out of its warmth. Reaching blindly in the dark he found the switch to the bed lamp. He pulled on his jeans and sweatshirt then slipped into his tennis shoes. Not bothering to extinguish the light he headed for the front door grabbing his keys on his way out. Passing quickly through the dark damp air of night, Jack climbed into his Ford truck. Starting it, he pulled out of the drive and into the streets of Colorado Springs.

Jack really didn't even remember the drive to Daniel's small suburban house. He just suddenly was on the street in front of the residence. The old sedan that his friend had bought was sitting in the drive. Why Daniel insisted upon owning old beaters was beyond Jack. Of course, why the man stayed his friend was beyond him too. He had no reason to associate with an aging, cranky, arthritic Colonel either, but he did and O'Neill was eternally grateful.

He sat in the truck for a long while, an hour at least, wanting to go up to the door and knock, wanting to go into the house, wanting to see for himself that his dream had been wrong. 'Dreams teach' Shi'fu had said long ago. Well, he was teachable. He had learned. He had learned the hard way.

Finally, he got out of the truck and walked up the path to the door. There was a light in the back of the house, maybe the kitchen or the bedroom. He didn't remember how the house was laid out. He could barely remember the living room that he knew was in the front, right inside the door. The one he was knocking on.

When his knuckles first hit the wooden panel he was nervous, a little shy. What would he say to Daniel? What would Daniel say to him? But he didn't really care; he had to see him. He had to know that Daniel was real, alive, flesh and blood. If he only stood there like a blithering idiot and stared, at least he would know for sure that it was real.

As he stood on the stairs, Jack could hear the floorboards creak under the weight of a flesh and blood person. Flesh that was whole, blood that was pure, person that was alive and breathing and capable of feeling surprise and anger at being awoken at this ungodly hour.

The porch light burst in on his eyes, spreading it's golden light over a small round area that consisted of himself, three steps, a stoop and a door. A chain rattled against old painted wood and the door's knob snicked when the tumblers found their proper niches and the metal rolled open. There was a pop as the seal of the door broke open and a long slow creak as dry hinges rubbed each other raw.

Standing in the doorway, framed by a chipped, painted door facing was a human shape outlined by the muted glow coming from a backlight. He stared down at thee bare feet that stood on the door's threshold. They were pink white, with long toes and severe tendons that stood out from their tops.

Above the toes were the vertical strips of pajama bottom legs, cylinders of cotton maroon stripes on white that guided the eye upward to the silver snaps of the fly. It was neatly closed, hiding the organs of creation, pleasure and fantasy. The snaps were fastened, forbidding any imagination to breach their gateway. Up higher was an accordion of material, the sheath of cotton that secreted a band of elastic.

Beyond that was a cream colored jersey tee shirt that lay softly over white skin. Jack knew it was white. He'd seen it for himself. White and soft as Wisconsin butter, the kind that didn't have the dye or the salt. Just as he knew it was as smooth as the finest satin. This was the same skin that he'd witnessed deteriorating in front of his very eyes, precious silk covering delicate internal workings that had become aged and rotten prematurely by the horror of radiation poisoning. His fingers moved forward without his control, seeking their own confirmation that the skin, the flesh and the body were real and not the result of a dream.

"Jack, are you all right?"

How could he answer that question? He didn't know really. He could only look up into the concerned eyes of his friend. Blue eyes, framed with dark brown lashes and arching brows, that looked into him, seeing the good there, the evil, the history and the future of the man who stood before him. His fingers touched the soft material of his friend's shirt covered belly. It was real. He was real. They were real.

"Daniel." He sighed in relief.

"Jack? Are you all right?"

He closed his eyes and exhaled. Bowing his head he could only nod. In a gesture of contrition, he splayed his fingers over the soft material.

Jack felt the muscles vibrate beneath his touch as the diaphragm pushed the air to form more words.

"Come inside where it's warm. Is there a problem at the SGC?"

When wasn't there a problem at the SGC? There was always a problem. Aquamen kidnapping, Jaffa blasting, Goulds killing, bombs poisoning, men wounded, heroes bleeding, friends dying. A way of life, was the SGC. A way of death, to those he held most dear.

"Jack, say something! Are you hurt?"

Yes. "No."

"Its two o'clock in the morning. Why are you here?"

I needed to see you. "I had a dream."

"Sit down." He leads me in and puts me on the couch. "Do you want a drink?" He goes to the small bar in the back of the room where his eternal coffee maker lived and perked. "How about some coffee?" He brings me a cup. "Do you want to talk about it?" He sits down beside me.

Yes. "No. I mean I'm all right. I just needed to see that you were, you know, here."

"I'm fine, Jack."

"Yeah, I see that." But I had to see you, to touch you, to know I could believe in you.

"Here's your cup of coffee." He gives me the mug and our hands brush. He looks at me with his blue eyes, his knitted eyebrows and his pursed lips.

"Thanks, I appreciate it." I appreciate you.

"You're welcome."

"Jack."

"Yeah, Danny?"

"Thank you, for coming." A small smile.

"Thank you, for being here."

fin


End file.
